The Luggage We No Longer Carry
Few days back, I was strolling (pun intended) around in a mall looking at suitcases. Nowadays, the market is filled with either the nylon types or the light, wiggly kind—polypropylene hard (or soft?) cases. But not long ago, there was a time when travel meant hauling around weight—literally. Steel trunks that needed two people to lift. I remember, in my childhood, we had either VIP or Aristocrat suitcases that we had to sit on to close the bulging lids. Even the duffle bags we carried had zippers that threatened mutiny. No, they did not come with wheels, and usually the handles gave way every few trips.
Luggage had gravity. It said you were going somewhere, and taking everything with you—even the extra just-in-case-we-need stuff.
Today, suitcases are different. They glide. They spin. Some even follow you like loyal pets. They’re made of polycarbonate or polypropylene (I don’t know the difference), boast of smart compartments, and weigh next to nothing. These days, when airlines charge travellers a bomb for an additional 10 grams of check-in luggage, we learn to carry just enough. The goal is clear: travel light.
This shift isn’t just about technology or convenience. Nor is it just about travel. It reflects something deeper. We are learning, slowly, to offload. To carry less.
It shows in what we pack—but also in what we no longer do.
Books have been replaced by e-readers. Maps by GPS. Our fashion is about mix-and-match hacks. Even the bulky photo albums, once a full pouch of prints and negatives, are now stored in the cloud. We travel the world with a cabin bag and a phone. If we see anyone at the baggage carousel with more than two suitcases, we look at them with mild disdain—for carrying excess.
And it’s not just physical baggage we’re shedding.
Conversations about mental health are more common. Therapy, once whispered about, is now bookmarked on Instagram. People are learning to talk. To process. To let go of things that were previously folded neatly and shoved into an emotional corner for decades.
Relationships too reflect this shift. Divorce no longer carries the same taboo it once did. Many are walking out not in anger, but in quiet agreement. The “mutual” in mutual separation is not just legal—it’s emotional. A recognition that not everything must be endured. That we can part without punishing ourselves.
Even workplaces, in their own jargon-filled way, acknowledge this. Boundary setting, well-being days, right to disconnect—these are all signs of a culture trying, however imperfectly, to loosen its grip on the idea of carrying everything, all the time.
Even in our homes, the storerooms have quietly disappeared. The lofts too have become smaller—marking a subtle shift in how much space we’re willing to allocate for things we don’t generally need.
There was a time when life was about accumulation. More things. More duties. More expectations. Now, increasingly, we are becoming curators of our load—consciously deciding what stays and what goes.
But it’s not always comfortable. Many of us grew up believing that worth came from carrying more—responsibilities, silence, pain, the weight of what will people say. To carry was to care. To unburden was to be selfish.
Yet somewhere along the way, a quiet shift began. A new culture of saying, “I don’t have to carry this anymore.”
And that’s where we are now. Lighter luggage. Shorter explanations. Cleaner exits. We are not necessarily freer—but we are becoming less afraid of letting go.
Perhaps this is the new maturity—not endurance, but editorship.
In today’s world, it’s not how much we carry, but how wisely we choose what we carry forward.
Luggage had gravity. It said you were going somewhere, and taking everything with you—even the extra just-in-case-we-need stuff.
Today, suitcases are different. They glide. They spin. Some even follow you like loyal pets. They’re made of polycarbonate or polypropylene (I don’t know the difference), boast of smart compartments, and weigh next to nothing. These days, when airlines charge travellers a bomb for an additional 10 grams of check-in luggage, we learn to carry just enough. The goal is clear: travel light.
This shift isn’t just about technology or convenience. Nor is it just about travel. It reflects something deeper. We are learning, slowly, to offload. To carry less.
It shows in what we pack—but also in what we no longer do.
Books have been replaced by e-readers. Maps by GPS. Our fashion is about mix-and-match hacks. Even the bulky photo albums, once a full pouch of prints and negatives, are now stored in the cloud. We travel the world with a cabin bag and a phone. If we see anyone at the baggage carousel with more than two suitcases, we look at them with mild disdain—for carrying excess.
And it’s not just physical baggage we’re shedding.
Conversations about mental health are more common. Therapy, once whispered about, is now bookmarked on Instagram. People are learning to talk. To process. To let go of things that were previously folded neatly and shoved into an emotional corner for decades.
Relationships too reflect this shift. Divorce no longer carries the same taboo it once did. Many are walking out not in anger, but in quiet agreement. The “mutual” in mutual separation is not just legal—it’s emotional. A recognition that not everything must be endured. That we can part without punishing ourselves.
Even workplaces, in their own jargon-filled way, acknowledge this. Boundary setting, well-being days, right to disconnect—these are all signs of a culture trying, however imperfectly, to loosen its grip on the idea of carrying everything, all the time.
Even in our homes, the storerooms have quietly disappeared. The lofts too have become smaller—marking a subtle shift in how much space we’re willing to allocate for things we don’t generally need.
There was a time when life was about accumulation. More things. More duties. More expectations. Now, increasingly, we are becoming curators of our load—consciously deciding what stays and what goes.
But it’s not always comfortable. Many of us grew up believing that worth came from carrying more—responsibilities, silence, pain, the weight of what will people say. To carry was to care. To unburden was to be selfish.
Yet somewhere along the way, a quiet shift began. A new culture of saying, “I don’t have to carry this anymore.”
And that’s where we are now. Lighter luggage. Shorter explanations. Cleaner exits. We are not necessarily freer—but we are becoming less afraid of letting go.
Perhaps this is the new maturity—not endurance, but editorship.
In today’s world, it’s not how much we carry, but how wisely we choose what we carry forward.
Comments